


Celestial

by romanticalgirl



Category: Tabloid
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-04 23:14:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Better to burn out than to fade away</p>
            </blockquote>





	Celestial

**Author's Note:**

> The happiest of birthdays, to my dear, beloved [](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/profile)[**inlovewithnight**](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/). Fandoms of two FTW. Many thanks to [](http://nolivingman.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://nolivingman.livejournal.com/)**nolivingman** for beta-duty.
> 
> Originally posted 6-1-07

Of course Joe knows who he is. _Everyone_ knows who he is. Doesn’t change the fact that he _is_ who he is, and he’s right here, with two girls and a few more looking besides. It’s not just the girls, either, Joe knows. He can see more than one bloke watching him as well, following the path he and his entourage make through the crowded club.

Joe watches him as well for a moment, then turns his gaze back to the rest of the club. The music is loud, perfect for the girls and boys grinding together on the dance floor. It’s pulse pounding and spine jarring, but he tunes it out with more years of practice than he likes to admit as he moves back toward the stage, shaking hands and sharing kisses.

He moves behind the sleek curtained walls, the shiny silk falling behind him as he slips through, the reflection of the flashing lights shimmering as he glances back one last time.

 _He’s_ looking, and Joe can’t help but smile, a sly curve of his lips that earns him a silent laugh and a hard wink from the VIP table. Joe smiles a little more earnestly and ducks back behind the curtain, the fading music catching his attention. He hurries the rest of the way, grabbing the microphone as he passes. The lights splinter and shatter the dark of the club then go out until one solitary spot floods the stage.

And him.

The club’s nothing, and he knows it, but right now it’s the hot spot, made hotter by _his_ presence. Joe milks it for all its worth, hitting his marks and feeling the wave of the crowd wash over him. Right now they love him as much as the blue eyed bastard at the VIP table, and fuck _Tabloid TV_ , because right now, it’s Joe’s turn to shine.

**

“So. You’re the hot shit then.”

Joe’s dressing room is the janitor’s closet at the end of the hall with a mirror hung off the same hook as a dirty mop, but it’s enough to let him see Darren Daniels behind him, leaning on the wall like he owns it.

Joe’s short hair is wet with sweat, his face glowing in the faint yellowed light of the hall. He knows he looks like he’s been rode hard, though the look on Darren’s face says Joe’s not learned the meaning of the word as yet.

“What passes for it ‘round here.” Joe runs a hand through his hair and turns around, his eyes raking over Darren’s sharp suit, a fucking greenish-gold that’s likely silk and probably cost more than Joe’s flat costs him in a year. “You get lost? Should’ve taken a left if you were looking for the loo.”

“Friend of mine said it might be worth it to come down here and see you.”

“I’d think with the way your show goes, wouldn’t have many friends.”

“Business acquaintance then.” Darren tilts his head, sizing Joe up easily and quickly, his opinion likely already secured long before he made his way back here. “She said you weren’t to be missed.”

“Ah, she then. Likely she’s not talking about my act then.”

“What makes you think _I_ was talking about your act?” Darren’s gaze sweeps over him again, disdain clear in his eyes. Joe’s own gaze narrows as Darren shakes his head. “Never mind. You’re not what I’m looking for.

“Yes I am.” Joe rakes his hand through his short hair, the unbuttoned sleeve of his dress shirt frayed slightly at the cuffs. “Just what you need. What you want.”

Darren laughs, low and hot and dangerous. “How d’you figure that?”

“Because you’re here. And you’re a smart man. Darren Daniels doesn’t give a bloody fuck what anyone else thinks or says ‘less he sees it for himself. So you’re here. But whoever she is, you trust her enough, which got you in the door, but it’s you knowing what _you_ want that’s got you here.”

“And you’re what I want?” Darren’s voice is thick with sarcasm, laced with venom, like live on Tabloid TV, like fucking music to Joe’s ears.

He pushes off the wall opposite, closing the distance between them. Darren holds his ground, rough smirk hiding that famous fucking smile, superior and condescending like judgment from on high, handed down by Lucifer himself.

“I think you liked what you saw.” Joe raises an eyebrow as he stops directly in front of Darren, crowding him. “Like what you _see_.”

“You’re fucking Joe Schmo. John Q. Public.” Darren sneers, standing his ground. “White fucking bread and weak tea. The piss you drink at your mum’s because it’s the closest thing she’s got to drink. That’s what you are.”

Joe nods and smiles, both eyebrows up. “That’s right. And you’re Darren fucking Daniels. You get me, and you own everybody.”

“I already own everybody.”

“Just think. A poor, sweet, innocent boy.” Joe moves closer, swallowing as one of his shoes scuffs against Darren’s. “Taken in. Captured. Corrupted. Yours.” Joe catches his breath, struggling to find air this close. “Everyone’s got a skeleton in their cupboard, Darren.”

Darren reaches out, fingers sliding down Joe’s cheek, fanning out to trace the curve of it, thumb resting on Joe’s lower lip. “Everyone.”

“Even me,” Joe agrees, his tongue snaking out to lick the pad of Darren’s thumb.

“Yeah?” Darren asks softly, voice thick with anticipation. “What’s yours?”

Joe’s fingers slide down Darren’s chest, freeing buttons as they make their way down, parting fabric so his hands can touch warm skin as he sinks down to his knees. “This.”

**

Darren’s shirt is dark blue silk, and Joe slides the last of it free of his trousers easily, undoing the final buttons. He presses his mouth to the patch of flesh below Darren’s navel, mouthing the skin and teasing just above the belt buckle as he unfastens it, the metal whispering against leather and fabric as Joe makes short work of Darren’s trousers. He parts the fabric, easing it away from Darren’s skin, pushing it back toward his hips as Joe’s thumbs slip under the waistband of Darren’s boxers.

He eases the material over Darren’s erection, his prick hard and thick, skin flushed with blood. Joe groans low in his throat, looking up at Darren as he licks his lips then lets his tongue slide over the head of Darren’s cock.

A faint hiss of breath is the only reaction Darren gives, but it’s enough for Joe, and he runs his tongue over the flesh again before taking Darren into his mouth. Darren hisses again, the sound strangled at the end as Joe’s mouth closes around him. Darren’s hips roll forward, pushing deeper past Joe’s lips.

Joe groans and slides his hands up Darren’s thighs, past the bunch of his trousers to the hair-roughened flesh then the smooth jut of his hips, Darren growls, pushing against the restraint. Pulling back slowly, Joe lets his tongue paint the underside of Darren’s cock before exhaling, the heavy breath sliding over Darren’s flesh, making the other man shiver.

“Christ,” Darren exhales as well, the word falling like a hard blow as Darren’s hands fist at his sides, pounding the wall behind him. Joe smiles and nudges the warm skin at the base of Darren’s cock, his teeth grazing against the flesh. Darren’s breath huffs out above him, tension sharpening his features, his muscles.

Joe turns his head, nuzzling and breathing against the flesh of Darren’s prick, fingers digging into Darren’s hips, holding him hard against the wall.

“Fuck.” Darren jerks against him, struggling against Joe’s hands, thrusting forward. “Fuck.”

“Want it?” Joe groans against Darren, not waiting for an answer as he takes him deep, mouth tight and hot around Darren’s cock, sucking, pressing his tongue against the pulsing vein, feeling the blood pound. Darren moans, the sound thick. One hand slams back against the wall again as the other reaches out, curving along the back of Joe’s head, his fingers gripping the sweat-slick hair, scoring Joe’s scalp with his nails.

Joe blows his breath through his nose, whimpering. He presses closer, needing more, taking Darren deeper still. The slick head of Darren’s cock slides against the back of Joe’s throat as Darren thrusts forward, struggling against Joe’s grip. He can feel Darren’s nails break his skin, can feel his own need boiling at the base of his cock as he forces himself back, teeth lightly scraping Darren’s flesh.

“Christ. Jesus. _Fuck_.” Darren’s hips jerk hard, his thighs cording like steel as he comes, thick heat coating Joe’s throat. He sucks Darren down, lips and tongue working until Darren gasps, both hands catching Joe’s head and pulling him back, easing him off and away.

Darren slumps against the wall, cock still flushed, though spent, as he fights for breath, his chest heaving with the effort. His hand eases along Joe’s head and Darren’s thumb catches Joe’s lower lip, rubbing it again before tugging at it, pinching hard. Joe winces and jerks back, not before Darren cuffs him hard, the force of his blow sending Joe sprawling across the floor.

Darren adjusts his clothes, tucking his shirt into his charcoal grey slacks, smiling down predatorily. Joe licks his lips and sits up, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. He shakes his head and levers himself to his feet, meeting Darren’s electric blue eyes.

Darren smirks as his gaze rakes down Joe’s body, pausing for a long time at the length of his arousal, shadowed against the black tuxedo trousers. “So. Friday.”

“What?” Joe’s eyes narrow, suspicious as Darren moves past him, glancing at himself in the warped mirror, fingers brushing back a thick mass of curls that had fallen forward.

“Friday.” Darren turns and moves past Joe again, heading back toward the noise of the club. “Five o’clock. Don’t be late.”

“Be late? Be late for what? Where?”

Darren stops and looks back with a sigh. “The studio, Joe Public. I’m going to make you a star.”

Joe smiles. “A star.”

“Careful,” Darren warms him, his own smile hard and feral and dangerous. “You’ll be a star. But I’m a fucking supernova.”


End file.
